


i didn't just come here to dance (if you know what i mean)

by seaworn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Drinking, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Smut, clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/pseuds/seaworn
Summary: “Then what is your type, Chris?” Otabek asks. He’s drunk, but not that drunk. What’s buzzing through his veins is frustration, because he’s had to watch Chris dance with everyone but him for weeks.





	i didn't just come here to dance (if you know what i mean)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still living for Chrisabek so here you go - a small smut piece I managed to finally finish! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Chris Giacometti is a whirlwind. Otabek would never had expected to end up in Geneva in all the places in the world. He was only supposed to stop by, have dinner with an old not-quite-a-friend Chris Giacometti, then continue his journey to France. He didn’t expect himself to say yes when Chris asked him to stay. He didn’t _intend_ to. But then Chris leaned in closer over the table, his loose collar flashing a hint of collarbone, eyes sparkling in the low light, and asked whether Otabek was in a rush to go anywhere.

 

And, well, he wasn’t. That’s the idea of road trips, right? The possibility of an adventure?

 

So he said yes to Chris. Yes to Chris’ eyes, yes to that cheeky smile, yes to that lean waist that looks strong and lean when he’s standing and loose and curvy when he’s walking in front of Otabek, buttocks swaying from side to side.

 

Not that Chris is offering any of that to Otabek. No, they’re just - friends. Otabek is hesitant to call them even that. But they _do_ have mutual friends, mutual memories from international skating competitions, and they’re following each other on Instagram.

 

**

 

Otabek has, of course, heard the rumours about the Casanova of figure skating. The stories, the looks, the no-knowledge of personal space. But he’s never actually _seen_ Chris with anyone. He hasn’t seen Chris kiss anyone, hasn’t seen him retreat to anyone’s hotel room after banquets. Hell, one spring they spent a few months touring together on Stars on Ice, and more than once Otabek saw Chris practise by himself at the rink on a Friday night instead of joining everyone else to a late night dinner.

 

It’s, somehow, infuriating to Otabek. He doesn’t know why. It’s just all the _talk_ he’s heard about Chris that makes him want to see it for himself. 

 

Which leads them to this evening.  

 

Okay, so. Otabek is a chatty drunk, right? It always surprises everyone, because sober him isn’t always talking, but the drunk him _is_. And apparently, his drunk self has decided to cope with the fact that he’s got a hopeless crush on Chris with constantly, _constantly_ talking about Chris’ love life to him. It’s a bit like, _‘I’m so okay with me not being the one you kiss and I’m going to prove that by being your wingman tonight’._

That's what he's done. He’s spent the entire evening asking about whether Chris is seeing anyone, why not, would he like to take that redhead home, why not  how about that guy, how about _that_ guy - you get the idea. Otabek might be drunk but he’s not a dick - he would’ve stopped if Chris looked even the slightest bit uncomfortable. But instead of that, he only kept tutting at Otabek when he pointed at some guy, saying _“that’s really not my type, mon chéri”_ and _“that’s a big, fat no from me, sweetie”_ and _“hmm, blondes aren’t usually my type”_ with that low, warm voice of his.

 

They're at their third club of the evening. This one is a bit shady, upbeat music making it hard to hear what the other person is saying. It gives Otabek the perfect excuse to lean closer to Chris to hear him.  There isn’t any room to sit, but it’s fine. Otabek is too antsy to sit anyway.

 

He feels like their time together has been - well. Otabek thinks he’s really awful at picking up on signals, but a small part of him is convinced that there might be something between him and Chris. Or maybe not. He doesn’t really know how Chris acrs around other people or, like, sober. They’ve mostly been drinking together.

 

 _But_ every single night so far, at some point of the evening, Chris has stood really close to him every now and then, then suddenly taken a step back with a _‘hold my drink’_ and disappeared onto the dance floor to dance with someone, anyone. He never took anyone home or even kissed them -  Otabek could hear the sound of hearts breaking  all over city.  

 

“Then what _is_ your type, Chris?” Otabek asks. He’s drunk, but not too drunk. What’s buzzing through his veins is _frustration_ , because he’s had to watch Chris dance with everyone but him (really - Otabek knows he’s a bad dancer but he’s not _that_ bad) for weeks. He almost wishes Chris would find someone to spend the night with, just so that Otabek could do the same to blow off some steam.

 

“Someone I can’t have,” Chris says. He’s a bit sweaty since the club is quite crowded, and Otabek has to fight the impulse to press his thumb against Chris’ collarbone where the sweat has gathered. The soft hairs in his neck are curled upwards from the heat.

 

“Why not? You can get _anyone_. I’ve gotten us drinks four times tonight, and on three of those times I’ve had to shoo off some hopeful man who took my place in order to chat you up.”

 

Chris shrugs a dismissive shoulder, dodging the question. Instead he gives Otabek a look and raises his brow.  “What about Yuri Plisetsky?”

 

“What about Yuri Plisetsky?”

 

“ _You_ and Yuri Plisetsky.”

 

Otabek’s brows rise to his hairline. “Oh, no  - we’re not dating, god no.”

 

“Why not? He seems okay. A little feisty. Very handsome. You’d look great together.”

 

“We have the wrong kind of dynamic for dating, I suppose,” Otabek says. It’s not like he’s never thought about dating Yuri. They’ve even talked about it with Yuri - a conversation that ended with ‘okay, god no, we would be awful together’ - but there just isn’t any spark. “It’s different with Yuri. He’s the one I like visiting when I want support on my new music or want to play a new video game - he’s not the one I want to,” Otabek pauses and waves his hand in a vague fashion, “spoil and kiss and do stuff to.”

 

“What kind of dynamic are you looking for, then?”

 

If Otabek would be in any way alert, he’d notice Chris leaning closer to him, but he’s too busy avoiding Chris’ gaze and busy telling himself he’s not having the crush of a century on the man.

 

“I just - “ Otabek sighs and takes a swig of his beer. It’s sour and  lemon-y, which is something he wasn’t expecting from a beer. He glances at the label, but it’s too dark to see the name. He’ll ask Chris later. “I can’t explain it. If - if there’s that _pull_ , that charged energy - then I know. I don’t know what kind of dynamic is good in the long haul, though. I like banter and someone I can genuinely talk to - the easy, fun kind of dynamic.” He takes a shaky breath. “Like you and I.”

 

He looks up at Chris, whose eyes are bright and light, even in the dim lighting. Chris licks his lower lip and bites the inside of his mouth.

 

“You think our dynamic is good?” He asks slowly.

 

Otabek can back down from this one. He can say “yeah, as friends” and that’s it. Chris wouldn’t push it - he’d stop the casual flirting he’s been doing with Otabek since he got here and respect Otabek’s space.

 

Otabek doesn’t want that.

 

“I do,” he says instead, making sure not to break eye contact with the man.

 

Chris bites his plush lower lip between his teeth and he looks like he’s trying to decide something.

 

“Otabek,”  he finally breathes, and it’s so close that Otabek can feel it on his skin. His voice is low and careful.  “Earlier tonight, you kept asking who I want to go home with.”

 

“Did I?” Otabek says, distracted because his eyes keep slipping to Chris’ mouth that is _so close_ to him. When Chris gives him a look that says, plain as day, _‘would you keep up?’_ , he shakes his head and says: “Fuck. That’s right. I did, didn’t it?”  His heart is pounding, because he wants this conversation desperately to go in the direction he thinks it’s going.

 

Chris breaks their eye contact to place his beer on the handrail next to Otabek. Then he puts one of his palms next to Otabek’s head, then the other on the other side - trapping Otabek.

 

“I want to go home with you, Otabek.”

 

Otabek can’t help himself. He has no self-control to answer Chris something witty, perhaps whisper “shall we, then?” in his ear and lead him away from this shady club with a hand on his lower back, no.

 

He just kisses Chris, there and then. He can’t imagine Chris ever being that barbaric when it comes to wooing. He’s probably all suave talk and discretion, French spoken in a low whisper against skin, featherlight touches. It’s the opposite of this moment: a sloppy, uncoordinated drunken kiss in a dim hallway of a shady bar.

 

Luckily Chris doesn’t seem to mind it. He only makes a surprised sound that turns into a smirk against Otabek’s lips. Chris puts both of his hands on Otabek’s chest, rubbing his palms up and down, fingertips dipping into his collarbones and dragging over his nipples. Otabek tries not to shiver, wrapping his own hands around Chris’ waist, just above his round, perky ass. He’s trying his best to keep it modest. Chris is peppering small, wet kisses on Otabek’s lips, and Otabek’s heart is beating in the tempo of those kisses. Chris is an _amazing_ kisser. His tongue wipes across Otabek’s lip every now and then, his teeth graze tug on his lower lip. Chris is teasing him, Otabek realises. The realisation makes his cock pulse against the zipper of his jeans and his breath catch in his throat.

 

Otabek has dreamed about Chris’ neck for _weeks_ , so he can’t really stop himself when his mouth wanders from Chris’ mouth to his jaw, his jaw to his neck. It’s salty with sweat, the skin soft and warm.

 

“We’re in public,” Chris whispers, but his voice is laced with laughter.

 

“And?” Otabek whispers back, kissing Chris’ neck. He gets an amused, choked huff as a result and then Chris is tugging at his hair to drag him back up for a kiss. He’s feeling daring, having never before felt this kind of energy with anyone else. He trusts Chris to tell him to stop if he goes too far.

 

Chris does _not_ ask him to stop. Instead he steps back and takes Otabek’s hand in his.

 

“Come,” he says. His voice is lower than it was before, and Otabek feels the tremble of it travel to his stomach. Chris gives him an appraising look before turning around, never letting go of Otabek’s hand. Otabek can’t help but look the way Chris’ hips sway in front of him, how his curls bounce with every step.

 

Chris leads them to the bathrooms - Otabek is confused for a moment, blinking, because he’d lost his coordination skills somewhere along the evening and he thought they were leaving. Chris isn’t confused - he’s clearly got a plan, and that involves shoving Otabek into a toilet stall.

 

“Sit down,” he says. His voice is laced with newfound urgency that makes Otabek feel powerful, because if Chris wants him even half of how much he wants Chris...Well - that's a lot, too. 

 

“Why me?” Otabek asks while he still obeys Chris and sits down onto the toilet seat. It’s definitely not the most romantic setting he’s been in, and the sudden change from the beat of the music surrounding them to the deafening silence of the bathrooms where they can hear each other’s panting breath is stark.

 

“Be _cause_ ,” Chris says. Otabek hooks his finger around Chris’ belt loop and yanks his forward, all the way into his lap. Chris stumbles and laughs but arranges his long limbs so that he’s sitting in Otabek’s lap. Their cocks finally touch through their clothing and _fucking shit_ , that feels good. Otabek moans into Chris’ mouth and grabs his ass to pull him closer. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt such strong, untamed lust towards someone.

 

Chris is starting to make these sexy, high-pitched whines against Otabek, and it’s seriously making his cock pulse and leak in his trousers. He’s obviously thought about how Chris sounded during sex - what sounds does he make when he’s getting fucked like there’s no tomorrow, would he beg if Otabek sat onto his cock? Is he one of those men who talk and babble during sex, or would he bite and lick his lips while letting sighs of pleasure fall from his lips in an unhurried fashion? - but imagining it is nothing, _nothing_ like the real thing.

 

“God, you sound great,” Otabek mumbles out loud against Chris’ lips because he just can’t _not_  compliment him.

 

“You obviously haven’t heard how I sound full of your cock, Monsieur Altin,” Chris says as if he knows exactly what’s going through Otabek’s mind.

 

“Obviously,” Otabek grits his teeth when Chris rolls his lips forward, making him see stars. Otabek can’t do anything else than hold on to Chris’ hips and let his head fall back. His head is spinning and it’s definitely, definitely not the alcohol.

 

One of Otabek’s hands moves from Chris’ waist to his stomach to feel the taut muscles there. His fingers slip inside his shirt, touching his belly button and feeling the soft hair underneath it. Otabek hesitates, but it’s only for a second or two, for he’s not used to touching men’s cocks in dirty club bathrooms. But it’s with _Chris_ and it feels right.

 

Chris makes an impatient sound, swifting his hips back. Otabek thinks that he’s backing down from from what they’re doing, suddenly realising that this is a bad idea when Otabek’s hands are down his pants, but then Chris kisses him with a clear laugh.

 

“No, don’t worry,” Chris says and for a split second Otabek is annoyed because apparently his face can’t hide anything from Chris. The man kisses him again, sweetly.

 

Chris gets up from his lap, sinks to his knees. Otabek gets alarmed even though his cock is liking the proceedings.

 

“Chris, you don’t have t-”

 

“I know,” Chris interrupts him, smirking. He’s looking up at Otabek as he starts undoing his jeans. “This is just something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

 

Otabek forces back the impulse to throw his head back in pleasure as Chris’ fingers skitter along his crotch, first on top of his boxers, then diving inside to wrap around his cock.

 

“Fuck,” Otabek says. “Mm - shit!”

 

Chris tuts and glances up to Otabek from under his lashes. “Such a dirty mouth,” he says just before his tongue touches the tip of Otabek’s cock.

 

“Holy fuck,” Otabek says, his breath hitching and stomach twitching in pleasure. “Yeah - I’m the one with - one with the dirty - “ He pants, but Chris is circling the crown of his cock and he completely forgets what he was trying to say. Probably wasn’t important anyway.

 

Though the ceiling tiles look interesting, Otabek _has_ to look down at Chris -  even if it means that his stamina will shorten considerably because of it. He has to get a visual memory of all of this.

 

Chris is already watching him when Otabek manages to blink away the fuzziness from the corners of his eyes. Chris’ eyes are warm and admiring and it makes Otabek’s cheeks heat up, because Otabek is the one who’s supposed to admire Chris, not the other way around.

 

Chris looks _amazing._  Otabek is certain that Chris is doing what he’s doing on purpose - the thing where he hollows his cheeks while looking up at him behind those thick-rimmed glasses, eyes wide. His lips are red from the kisses they’ve shared, his cheeks pink from the exertion.

 

Oh, shit. This is not going to last long at all, Otabek realises with an uneven breath. Not that his stamina has ever been worth a mention, but Chris appears to have shortened it by half, at least.

 

Chris licks Otabek's cock all the way from the base to the tip, then takes in as much as he can. He curls his fingers loosely around the rest of his cock. He doesn't start slow, which is something Otabek distractedly appreciated because he couldn't take any teasing now. 

 

“Oh my god, I’m going to - ahh, soon, too soon,” Otabek slurs, tongue not cooperating as the first tingles of an orgasm shake his core. He tries not no pull at Chris’ hair, but he wants to wrap his fingers around his curls to ground himself as his head is spinning.

 

Chris doesn’t answer, but his grip on Otabek’s thighs tightens and he hums, the vibrations feeling in Otabek’s dick. He replaces his mouth with his hand, making sure that his thumb circles the sensitive tip of Otabek's cock with every stroke. Otabek whines and his balls draw up, sweat gathering on his forehead. He’s panting but he tries to keep it quiet - even though the bathrooms are empty except for them, he doesn’t want anyone - the security personnel, mostly - to come here because of any weird noises.

 

When Otabek comes, it feels like a free fall, the adrenaline making him dizzy and body swim in pleasure. He has trouble sitting on the toilet seat, hips twitching forward to Chris’ slick, cum-stained fist that keeps on working his dick until Otabek makes a sound to indicate that he’s too sensitive.

 

“That was - shit, wow,” Otabek says when he gets his breath back and the world is no longer tilting sideways. He blinks and glances down to Chris who’s still on his knees, looking up at him with a small smile on his face. His chest is heaving and his eyes are bright and dark with arousal.

 

Otabek gets up even though his legs feel a bit weak. “Up,” he says to Chris, voice hoarse. Chris obeyes. He stumbles a little, but Otabek grabs his elbow to prevent him from falling. Otabek kisses him, and Chris moans.

 

“Otabek,” Chris whispers against his mouth. His voice is tight like he can’t breathe properly. His hips twitch against Otabek’s, cock hard and heavy.

 

Otabek pushes Chris against a wall and unceremoniously opens up Chris’ jeans and wraps his hand around his cock. Chris moans something in French, something Otabek isn’t familiar with. Chris’ cock is wet and pulsing in his hand, and when Otabek pushes his thigh between Chris’ leg, Chris lays his weight on it with a sigh. It’s a little awkward considering their height difference, but Chris doesn’t seem to mind. His hips are pushing up into Otabek’s hand and he’s making loud, breathy noises towards the ceiling. It’s amazing. It sounds like Chris has been holding himself back and now he’s enjoying the feeling of letting go. Hell, it sounds like Chris has finally gotten what he’s wanted for so long.

 

Otabek hopes so.

 

Chris is getting closer, so Otabek tightens his hold on Chris’ dick for just a tad and crushes their mouths together.

 

“Feeling your heavy cock in my hand, hearing you, seeing you like this - it’s a dream come true, Chris,” he whispers into the brunette’s mouth and bites on his lower lip. Chris is shaking - his voice is trembling, his _body_ is trembling.  “ _You’re_ a dream come true.”

 

That does it. Chris comes. He doesn’t become any louder, he doesn’t scream Otabek’s name or any profanities. No - he goes rigid and his eyes roll back in pleasure. He stutters a silent breath and his cheeks go bright red, but not a sound comes up between his lips.

 

It’s nothing like Otabek’s fantasies, but somehow it’s _better_.

 

“There you go, Chris, _fuck,_ ” Otabek marvels and kisses Chris’ sweaty, salty neck with light pecks, waiting patiently for Chris to ride out his orgasm.

 

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” is what Chris mumbles when he finally gets in enough air.

 

“Indeed,” Otabek says and steps back, but not after making sure that Chris’ legs can carry.

 

Suddenly he feels a little awkward and a lot more sober than he was just fifteen minutes ago. But he doesn’t, _won’t_ , ruin this with doing something stupid to get the awkward out of him like he has a tendency to do with all of his promising… relationships?  He doesn’t say, “well, that was neat” or run his hand through his hair in a nervous manner, doesn’t start fussing with his clothes or check his phone to seem less interested. Doesn’t -

 

“God,” Chris interrupts his internal monologue with a laugh, “you look like a deer in headlights. Calm down. This is always awkward, it’s a given. Just -”  Chris steps closer and places his hands on Otabek’s cheeks, gently. He’s smirking.

 

“Thank you, that was amazing. I’m sorry I dragged you in this tiny, tiny bathroom with me instead of taking you home but I really couldn’t wait any longer. But I’d really like you to come back to mine now, anyway. We can sleep away the inevitable hangover and have sex tomorrow, if you’d like.”

 

Otabek blinks.

 

Chris doesn’t let him say anything stupid and kisses him. It’s hot and heavy and _perfect_ , and Otabek feels considerably less sober than just now.

 

“I don’t mean to ruin this by being sappy,” Otabek says, anyway, after the kiss because that’s what he _does_ , “but I’m so happy this happened, because I’ve been so-”

 

“- Horny? Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Chris says and bites Otabek’s lower lip, fingers ghosting over Otabek’s sensitive cock.

 

“Fuck you,” Otabek answers. That makes Chris laugh against his lips and press against him.

 

“Yes, fuck me. That _is_ the plan, oui?"

 

Otabek has never had much luck with getting taxis, but this time he manages to make them both presentable, herd a laughing Chris out of the club and summon a taxi from out of thin air in exactly four point five minutes. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! It's been a long time since I've written anything, but I think I finally got (at least some of) my drive back! I'm feeling a little rusty - especially with smut- so please give me feedback <3 And as usual - feel free to correct my mistakes as English isn't my first language. Also, this isn't betaed either!
> 
> Thank you SO SO MUCH  for reading! <3


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